Shattered Slippers
by ElletheUndead
Summary: Kindness is something that Erik has been deprived of the majority of his life. Little Meg has been terrified of the opera ghost her entire life. But paths cross and a sweet kindness blossoms between the two-but beautiful things can only last for so long before they shatter between even the most delicate of fingers. ((Meg/Erik))
1. Prologue

_Author's Note: This takes place after Meg visits Erik's lair in the ALW musical :)_

 _I hope you enjoy! ((Reviews are always appreciated))_

 _Prologue_

Small, soft fingers ran across the mask as a soft cry escaped her lips. Such pain-such sadness-! It was all held in the mask; the feelings of insecurity, of pain, of pent up anger and love. It was all held in that mask. The girl-a young, tiny thing with wide, raven eyes and golden curls-felt no terror. All the terror that she had once felt towards the opera ghost was gone. For now she knew-there was no ghost. There had never been a ghost. The ghost had been a man-the ghost had been human.

The girl's eyes drifted from the mask to the shattered glass on the floor. Slowly, wordlessly, she walked to them and bent over to pick one up. She held it to eye level and stared at her distorted reflection.

A wide black eye stared back at her-revealing the reflection of a stray blonde curl and half of soft, pink lips. Her mouth widened slightly as she let out yet another cry. She was beginning to pity him-to pity the ghost

- _the man_.

"What have they done to you?" she whispered at her reflection. "How long have you lived hear? You must be awfu-" She stopped her whispering. Footsteps-angry ones at that. He was here. The phantom of the opera was here.

"I thought I told you to leave! LEAVE!" The little dancer stood up, dropping both the shard and the mask, and began to run as quickly as she could. "YOU! WHO ARE YOU?! WHY DID YOU COME HERE?!" His voice-it was so angry-so commanding! The dancer could not help but stop in her tracks and turn around to face him-

His face. What a strange face. The dancer was not repulsed nor scared by it-she was oddly interested in it. He walked closer to her as her eyes became lost in his face-in every little detail an-he roughly placed his hands on her shoulders and shook her.

And she shrieked.

"Why are you here?!" he demanded, looking down at the small blonde who seemed to be dreadfully frightened. If she had been any other person, he would have lifted up a glass shard and-

But this was Madame Giry's daughter. He could not hurt her-he refused to. Her mother had shown him kindness-kindness he had never known. The least he could do was spare her child. Christine's friend. _His Ch-_

No, she was not his.

"If you are looking for Christine, she is gone," he replied. His tone became softer and his blue eyes seemed to speak silent volumes of loss. "You must leave. Your mother will be worried." The little blonde opened her mouth to reply, but no words came. "Go now, Little Meg." The little blonde backed away slowly before turning away. The opera ghost did the same.

There was a silence. A long, painful silence.

"I'm sorry." He turned around. The little blonde was in front of him, holding his mask in one trembling hand. "I...I..."

 _'What a nervous creature,'_ he thought as he gently took the mask from her small hands. He was sure she would run from him as soon as he took the mask. But she remained, a pained expression on her face. ' _What a melancholy, beautiful face she has.'_

"G..goodbye, monsieur," she said in a soft whisper. Wordlessly, he watched her run off into the darkness. He could only stare at his mask for a long time-imagining what the terrified Little Giry must have thought as her small hands held the mask. As she stared at his face-

the face of a monster.

How kind she had been to him. She had not laughed or displayed overdramatic theatrics. She only shrieked because he touched her. But she had not run off. She had stayed there-and had given him his mask.

Little Meg, with the raven eyes, had shown him kindness that only one other woman had shown him before.

Her mother.

Perhaps it was kindness he was lacking. The kindness that a raven haired widow had once given him when she was a mere girl.

The kindness that a raven eyed girl had just given him.

"Meg!" he called out. "Meg, are you still there?!"

But she was gone-gone into the darkness-

the darkness which he knew all too well.


	2. Darkness

_A/N: FIRST OF ALL I JUST WANT TO SAY HOW THANKFUL AND SHOCKED I AM AT ALL THE POSITIVE FEEDBACK? I'm just so thankful. 3 I hope you enjoy this chapter!_

 _Chapter One-Darkness_

 _Three Years Later_

Rain. It had fallen for the past three days without break-and it continued to fall. The blonde stared at the rain from her window-attempting to count the droplets that fell from the sky to the ground below.

"One, two," Little Giry began, following the droplets with a slender finger, "Three, fo-" A loud coughing from the other room interrupted her counting, causing her to lose focus. It was Mother. Mother had been ill for months now-she had only become progressively worse as the summer months faded away and the fall and winter months had come. Her cough had turned from a little cold to a sickness that had left her practically bedridden. Meg had assumed responsibility in the small Giry household. She cooked the meals, paid the dues, and worked. The girl-once an innocent little dancer-had been hardened by the harsh conditions of her life.

But yet the dancer had never lost her soft expression-her eyes still seemed to contain the sweetest glow to them and she always wore a smile. She still remained youthful-beautiful-and she tried to remain content. She tried to think of happiness when she heard her mother cry out in pain. She swallowed tears and put on a smile for guests who visited. She told her mother sweet nothings as she watched the life slowly fade away from her eyes.

"MEG!" the loud, hoarse yell caused Meg's thoughts to shatter and instinctively run to her mother's room, ready to get her what she wished. "MEG!" The girl ran to her bedside and grabbed her mother's hand, pressing it against her face-how cold it was!

"I'm right here, Mama," she replied in a soft whisper. "Are you alright?" Her mother turned her head to face her-she looked so different, yet the same. Her face still held the strong bone structure it always had and her sharp features- something that her daughter had never inherited. But her face was pallid and her dark eyes seemed sunken in-she seemed defeated.

"I'm going to die, Meg," was her reply. Meg shook her head, blonde curls bouncing up and down as she did so.

"Don't say that, Mama! You'r-"

"I am." Meg remained silent this time. "When I go, you must tell him that I am gone."

"Tell who, Mama?"

"Erik." The blonde did not reply immediately-Erik. The man that she had given his mask to so long ago-on that fateful night. "I told you everything. I was his only friend... You must tell him that I am gone."

"Oh, but Mama," she whispered. "Ma-"

"Meg. You must tell him."

"Of course, Mama." It pained Little Meg to hear her mother speak of death. To speak of the inevitable truth that had to be faced. And as much as Meg pretended that Mother would get well, she knew that her mother would not. "Anything for you." She placed her hand against her mother's cheek and began to stroke it softly. She could feel tears roll down those pallid cheeks, she could hear the soft gasps that were made. Little Meg wished she could shout and sob-but she only stood, silently. She feared that if she screamed, it would startle Mother. "M...Mama, I love you...I love you so much."

There was no reply.

"M...Mama?" she asked in a soft voice. "M..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes traveled to her mother's face-it held a serene, painless expression. "Mama...did you fall asleep?" She shook her gently. The woman did not stir. "Please wake up...please..." But her pleas were left unanswered. Meg's raven eyes traveled from her mother to the ceiling. For a moment, she bit on her lip to keep herself from crying.

And then, she fell to the floor and began to sob. And there she stayed, completely alone in the world, as the rain kept falling with no sign of stopping.

* * *

It was her turn to wear the black dress now. To pull her thick, curly hair into a complicated twist. To look down as she walked. To refuse visitors.

It was her turn to mourn.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror silently. The dress resembled the one her mother had worn for all those years-refusing to wear colorful dresses even after the mourning period was over. Yet, it was not the dress her mother had. It was a different dress-altered to fit her small frame and made in the current fashion. No, it was not her mother's dress-she was not her mother.

How she had admired the elder Giry! She had watched with large eyes as her mother had taught the corps, as her mother had juggled so effortlessly with the responsibilities she had. How Meg wanted to be like her. Beautiful, graceful, cold-but good-hearted.

The girl took a breath before staring at herself in the mirror once more. She was changed-the dark circles underneath her eyes had become noticeable, her skin had become pale, and her eyes had lost the glow they once had. She wondered if Erik would recognize her-no, of course he would not. She had only given him his mask. Had only momentarily brushed her warm fingers against his pallid, cold hand. Had only stared into his eyes-a pallid blue-and seen the sorrow that he held.

No, of course he wouldn't remember her.

She looked away from the mirror as she reached for her gloves-black lace. As she put them on, slowly placing her fingers inside of the glove, a comb caught her eye. It was golden-with emeralds embellishing it. It had been her mother's-her father had given it to her as a present. Her father. Monsieur Jules Giry-who was dead. Who lay beside her mother. Finally, the two-who had been so in love-were together.

She stuck the comb in her thick bun. She stood up straight-something her mother had always told her to do-and wore a stoic expression on her face. There was no elder Giry now-there was only Meg Giry. And Meg Giry was no longer a terrified child who told stories.

She was a woman.

* * *

She walked down the cold streets of Paris, staring straight ahead. She ignored the stares of men and the small talk from women. She only continued to walk-that was what Mother had always done.

She continued to walk. Past the florists who offered her violets-her favorite flowers-and peddlers who offered her all kinds of pretty 'necessities'. She walked past the bakery where she and Christine had laughed and shared food so very long ago-now Christine had left Paris and Little Meg had been left alone. She walked past every familiar building and person until she reached the entrance of his lair-

She stood for a moment, scared. She had not even seen 'The Monsieur Phantom' in years-for all she knew, he could be dead. He could have left, he cou-she was terrified to go in there. Her cold demeanor that she had worn on the streets melted away and a terrified child stood in its place. She wanted to go back home-to cry into her pillows and hold the little kitten she owned until she fell asleep. But she could not! She had promised Mother that she would find Erik-and tell him that her mother had died-he had to know.

And so she entered the lair and traveled to the exact place she had come to three years ago- to the exact place where she had found his mask. To the exact p-

"Why are you here?" whispered a harsh, low voice. The dancer's eyes became wide and she slowly stepped back, startled by the voice.

"Monsieur Erik, is that y..you?" she whispered back. There was no answer but she could hear the footsteps approach-slowly coming closer-until she saw a man walking towards her. It was Erik-Erik without his mask. Erik dressed in no manner to receive any guest-much less a young lady. But it was Erik. "B..Bonjour." He only walked closer to her, studying her face.

"Who are you?!" he demanded.

"M..Meg Giry...the girl..w..who gave you your mask." His mouth slightly opened and he looked into her eyes-her large, coal colored eyes. Her mother's eyes.

"Ah, you. I remember you...I barely recognized you-the outfit does not suit you."

"It's the only one I have." She swallowed. "I'm in mourning."

"Is your husband dead?"

"My mother." His expression turned to one of shock, anger, and pain. He turned his head away from her. Little Meg slowly-silently-walked towards him, her face holding an expression of concern. Soft gasps escaped from his mouth and the dancer could see that he shook. "Monsi...are you alright?"

"Leave," he whispered. "Leave and never return."

"M...Monsieur-M...Mother ma-"

"LEAVE!" The girl froze in her place. "She is dead-the only one that truly cared for me..." It became silent and Little Giry realized that Erik-the opera ghost that had terrified her for years-was crying.

"M..M.." He turned to face her with large eyes-those eyes that held sorrow and pain. Those eyes that told Little Giry that he was no monster-but a man. She stood there-and then ran to him, wrapping her tiny arms around him. And he fell, sobbing and shaking. He was showing weakness-no longer was he the opera ghost, but he was a mere man who was in pain. For the only woman who had shown him any love was dead.

"D..d..don't leave," he mumbled, still shaking in her arms. Meg only stared ahead, eyes wide with silent sorrow. She would not leave him. She could not leave him. For she was just as alone as he was in this world.

"I won't," she whispered. She would take her mother's place-no, she was not her mother. She could never be her mother. But she could be there for Erik-she could keep him company and talk to him-for he needed her.

"I'll _stay._ "


	3. Beginning

_Author's Note: Thank you for all the really lovely reviews! You're so lovely and I apologize for the wait!_

 _Chapter Two-Beginning_

She kept her promise-she stayed with him. Every afternoon, after she had left her employer's dark, dirty office, she would walk to where he lived-the place that had once terrified her. How amusing it was that it was now this place that offered her the most comfort. Sometimes, she would bring dinner-either small pastries that she bought or leftovers. She would sit down and watch the Monsieur Phantom at work as she ate-and sometimes, he would turn to her.

And he would speak.

"Your hair looks rather dreadful today," was his snide comment. The dancer remained silent as she bit into her pastry. "You're not suited to wear your hair up."

"I am in mourning," she replied in a tense tone, "I must wear it up. It would be disrespectful to wear it down."

"You forget that we are not in public, _Petite Meg._ We are in private."

"I'd rather keep my hair up. Thank you." Erik only stared, watching the pins pop off of the blonde's messy twist. The girl slowly brought her hand to her hair and turned a bright shade of red when she realized it was becoming undone. A chuckle escaped from Erik's lips, causing Little Meg to become even a deeper shade of scarlet. She began to furiously stab the pins back into her hair, desperately attempting to keep her hair in its haphazard twist.

"Allow me," he began as he stood from his seat and walked to where Meg sat. She froze in place as she felt his cold fingers touch her warm, small hands. Slowly, he removed her hands from her head-his touch was gentle and soft- She could not help but allow him to remove the pins from her hair and let it fall down to her waist. She could not help but allow him to run his fingers through her thick curls-perhaps, she was enjoying his touch. "Much better. Wouldn't you agree?" Her reply was a silent nod. Yes, it felt better. No longer was there the dull pain that she had felt before. She felt lighter, she felt free, and she felt youthful. For the first time in five months, she felt like the young girl that had disappeared along with her mother. For a moment, she was Little Meg once again. A little dancer with a vivid imagination and a sweet innocence in her black eyes. "Well?"

"Y..yes...it feels better." Erik managed a half smile before walking back to his desk. He always seemed to work there-always creating a new masterpiece that would never be played, always slaving away on his music. Music that Meg so desperately wanted to hear. "It must be a lovely piece." The man dropped his pen and turned to face her. "You've been working on it for so long-it must be beautiful. Are you almost finished with it?"

"N-no," he replied in a soft voice, surprised that the young Giry had spoken to him. They barely spoke when she came to visit. The two would sit there in complete silence-Erik working and Meg staring at nothing in particular, allowing tears to escape from her eyes and fall down her rosy cheeks. But today, she spoke. "I'm halfway done."

"What is it about?"

"I'm not quite sure...I suppose it is about heartbreak."

"That sounds... _somber._ It must be beautiful, though...I'd love to hear it someday."

"I'm afraid you won't be able to. This piece is never going to see the light of day." With that, the girl became quiet once again. Not another sound was uttered until the clock struck nine. Erik had grown concerned that Meg had not left yet-it was dark out and a young woman could be injured walking the streets alone at this time. He set his pen down and turned to see her-only to find her asleep. Even in sleep, she seemed unhappy. Her pink lips were slightly parted and her eyebrows were knit together in a way that gave her rosy face a pained appearance. Even still, he could recognize that she looked beautiful-blonde ringlets spilled over her shoulders and her small frame-clothed in black lace-gave her a fairytale-like appearance. She was a princess, waiting for her lover to wake her with a kiss from her death-like sleep. Until then, she would remain forever youthful-

but he was not her prince.

He was the monster.

And that would never change.

* * *

She stared at herself in the mirror-she wore her hair down now. She no longer cared of what the women at church told of her. She wanted to be happy once more. To feel alive as she once had been. She no longer wanted to feel empty and alone. She ran her fingers through her hair once more before smoothing down her mourning dress and pinching her cheeks, attempting to give her pallid face color.

She would go to church and visit Erik once more. That had become her routine. Go to work or church or shopping for groceries and visiting Erik. She no longer danced. She no longer laughed with friends at a cafe. She no longer walked the brightly lit streets of Paris at night.

All she did was visit the monster-

But he was no monster. He was a mere man-as mortal as she. He was lost, confused, upset. He had no love in his life-the one thing he wanted most, he could not get. He had no one.

 _And neither did she._

Perhaps, she could grow to love him. She could be what he always wanted-after all, it was only the lonely who knew the struggles of the lonely. For she had already grown endeared to him. To his strange, quiet ways. To his rare-yet loving touches. To him-

she would grow to love him one day.

 _Perhaps she already did._

* * *

She walked inside his home-a black shadow that was illuminated by candles. She set down her small bag on the floor and walked to him. Her rose colored lips wore a small smile-and her hair was down, adorned by a black ribbon.

"I see you took my advice, Miss Giry," he mumbled as he stood from his desk and extended his hand.

"They hated it," she replied before letting out a small giggle.

"Who did? Those old hens at church?"

"Who else? Oh, they find every little thing about me that they can. They say I'm losing my mind because I have not married yet-a disgrace for a twenty one year old to be without even a suitor!"

"If you had a suitor, they would scream about how indecent it is to be in mourning and to be out with a man at the exact same time." She giggled at his reply, knowing that it was the mere truth-

and she stared into his eyes once more, becoming lost in them. They still held the sorrow that they always had, but now they held some hint of happiness and of hope.

"...They're beautiful," she whispered.

"What is?"

"Y..your eyes..." He said nothing. He could not for her reply had shocked him-he was a hideous beast! How could any part of him hold any beauty to such a lovely creature such as herself? How could she see beauty when there was none?

"You lie."

"I do not!" There was only silence as the two stared into each other's eyes-into sapphire and coal-

He could no longer resist. He seized her by her arm and brought her close to him before kissing her. He no longer wanted to be the monster-he wanted to be the prince. He wanted to wake her. To love her. To be beside her every waking moment-

he wished to be loved by her.

But she did not return the kiss. She pushed away, pink faced and breathless-for she had never been kissed before.

"I should leave," she mumbled as she began to step away from him-afraid that if she gave in the two would not be able to control themselves. 

"Will you return?" he asked, his voice faltering. She did not reply. Instead, she ran away, hot tears rolling down her cheeks as she stepped into the warm sunlight. She loved every moment of the kiss-of his rough lips against her. Of his hand pressed against the small of her back, holding her in place. Of his hand squeezing her arm. Of-her fingers traced her lips slowly as she felt the tears cease.

She could not return-for she loved him.

She could not return for she could not bear to see his heart broken twice-

once by a singer-

once by her.

She loved him-she wanted to desperately tell him. She wanted to feel his touch once more and hear his voice once again-but she could not return. Not now-perhaps never.

For she was scared.

Not of him.

But of love.

She was scared to _love._

 _A/N: I do apologize if this chapter was not super well written. I've been stuck on a case of writer's block for the longest time. Anyway, I do hope you still enjoy and reviews are always welcome!_


	4. Life

_As always, thank you for all the amazing reviews! I am honestly both surprised and grateful that you all are enjoying this story!_

 _Chapter 3-Life_

She returned-she returned with a basket full of flowers of every color. Of lilacs, violets, peonies, gardenias. And his favorite. Roses. She had picked out a handful of them-vivid with life and fragrant. The soft petals were a brilliant crimson. And she had taken that raven hair ribbon she had worn on her hair and had used it to tie the roses together. To form a neat bouquet.

She returned-she returned to him wearing a dress that was colored a soft pink. Her blonde hair was adorned with pink petals and her eyes now held the soft, youthful expression that he once knew long ago. When she had been little more than a skinny dancer who leaped into the air with her feet perfectly pointed. When she had worn tutus daily and had told stories of him-how well she had grown!

"So you've returned," he began, looking at the raven eyed girl. "...You decided to return." He noticed her pink lips quiver slightly as she looked down at the ground, refusing to look into his eyes.

"Yes, Monsieur. I have returned," she replied, setting the basket on the floor.

"It is wonderful to see you again, Miss Giry...where did you get such a beautiful dress?"

"I...It was gifted to me, Monsieur Erik."

"Really?"

"Y...yes."

"Who would have the money to buy such an expensive dress? It seems to be made from only the finest of silks." Slowly, the girl turned to face him. Her lips continued to quiver as she took hesitant steps towards him. "Well?"

"A baron."

"A baron?"

"...Yes." His gaze dropped to her left hand-it was absent of any glove. He searched for a ring-some gold or silver thing-on her fingers. He found no such thing-her hand was unadorned, left free of any jewelry. "I am not engaged to him-nor do I plan to be."

"Then why does he buy you such beautiful things, Meg?"

"He wants my hand in marriage-but I do not want to be his bride!" She took a breath. "All I want is happiness. I cannot attain it if I am to sit at a house all day...acting like a china doll..."

"Is that why you came? To run away?"

"N...no. I came to face it."

"Face what, my dear?"

"...My feelings." He stood from his chair and walked over to her, arms open. Without thought, the girl fell into his arms and clung to him. "I love you," she whispered. "...I've loved you ever since Mother died and I came to visit...and we cried and it was then that I knew...that you were no monster. You've never been one." He stared into her eyes and placed a soft finger on her top lip, beginning to trace the shape of them-small, pout-like lips that deserved to be kissed over and over again!

"No one could love a creature like me."

"But I do!" Tears began rolling down her cheeks-no longer pallid but a soft pink. "You're all I have..." His hand moved to wipe her tears.

"Stop crying," he whispered, "Someone as beautiful as yourself should not cry."

"I cannot help but cry when you do not believe me."

"But what could a beautiful creature see in something as grotesque as a corpse?!" he cried out, almost laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the thought. "You deserve someone far greater than I." At this, Meg pushed Erik away and turned around, refusing to face him. How his words hurt her! She had nothing in this world! No friend to call her own, no lover to soothe her. Not even a mother. All she had was Erik. The man who watched from the shadows. That was all she had-and now, he refused to let her love him! He refused to let her give him what little she had left of her heart. "Meg..."

"What?!"

"Understand, it is difficult for me...she never loved me."

" _She_ is gone! I am not Christine-nor will I ever be! She and I are not the same! I can give you everything you've wanted...but I can never be Christine." It was true-Little Meg would never be Christine. She was far too spirited to change herself for any man. No, she would never be his dear soprano-never his Christine. But she could be _his_ Meg-if only he let her! "She may not have loved you, but I do! I do! I do! I d-"

"Enough!" he cried out. Silence replaced the near hysterical cries of the Little Giry. "I cannot risk my heart being broken twice."

"And I cannot risk seeing it! Which is why I am telling you that I love you!"

"Those are just delusions...you'll find someone-perhaps your baron..."

"...Why is it so difficult for you to believe that I sincerely love you...?"

"I have been lied to my entire life. Why should I believe _you_?"

"I promised I would never leave you-and I have remained faithful to that promise, Monsieur Erik." He said nothing. "...I must go. I have work...the flowers and food are for you. I shall return tomorrow."

* * *

He could not sleep. He lay restless and stared at the ceiling-cracked and grey with soot. Why was it so difficult to believe that Little Meg could love him? Her own mother had shown pity upon the hideous creature-she had taken him in and had shown him some strange semblance of kindness! Could Little Meg not do as her mother had? She had already proven that she cared for him-she brought him little trinkets she found and spent her time with him. She graced him with her soft beauty.

All she asked was to give him the love she felt for him-and he refused it. Why? Was it because she was not Christine? Not his soprano? But Christine had never been _his._ Perhaps Meg would never be his, either. But he could still love her-he could still let her give all of herself to him if she so wished! Tomorrow, he would tell her. He would tell her that he wished for her delicate, precious love.

And that he would love her in return.

* * *

She returned the following day, clad in a simple day dress. She brought food once again and after she gave it to him in a silent fashion, she went to sit at her usual station to fuss over her embroidery.

"You remind me of your mother," he mumbled as he took a bite of the sandwich that she had prepared. "Always busy."

"Oh," was her tiny reply as she continued.

"Take it as a compliment, Little Meg."

"...Thank you, sir."

"You've grown quiet today."

"I prefer to remain silent, if you'd let me."

"I was thinking...perhaps I do believe you...perhaps I can accept the fact that you love me." She set her needlework on the floor and turned to face him-large eyes wide with disbelief.

"I don't believe you."

"You must believe me! I tell the truth!" he cried. How the tables had turned! Yesterday it was she who was begging that he believe her-now it was he! Slowly, she stood and walked towards him, reaching a hand out. "D..do you believe me?" She said nothing but smiled her sweet, genuine smile. And he took her hand.

"I believe you," she whispered before placing a gentle kiss on his lips. "Do _you_ believe me?"

"I do and will every day of my life!" Before she could respond, he kissed her once more. His fingers ran through her thick curls and he felt her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, refusing to let go for fear that he may leave if she did. "I love you, Marguerite Giry." He stared into her eyes as she smiled-all the pain she held in those gorgeous eyes disappeared and love, joy, and happiness took their place almost immediately. He could feel her tremble against him as she opened her mouth-unsure what to say.

"I...I love you, too," she replied softly. "E..Erik, come with me...come live with me-I am so alone...the house is so large for a small thing like me. Will you join me?"

"M..Meg..."

"You can make your music in the attic! We have such a lovely attic! And...I have a spare room...it can be yours...I don't want to be alone any longer."

"Neither do I."

"Then come with me." Once more, she held her hand out.

And he took it.

No longer would either of them be alone.

He had her-and she had him.

 _Author's Note: Psst, this isn't the end. Trust me, there will be plenty of more chapters up. Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!_


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